


5 times peter nureyev initiated physical affection, & 1 time he didn't

by onetiredboy



Series: Jay’s 5+1 Fics [3]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Affection, Fluff, Other, PDA, its me!! starting ANOTHER FIC!!!!!!!!, me getting characterstudy-y about nureyev & touch as if i dont already have a wip fic abt that, nureyev pov bc i lLooOOvve writing nureyev pov, physical affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25312741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetiredboy/pseuds/onetiredboy
Summary: this fic reeks of touch-starved, found-family, yearning energy & you're all welcome.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: Jay’s 5+1 Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1844275
Comments: 83
Kudos: 330





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [longingineverynote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/longingineverynote/gifts).



> i'm sorry it's 2am the ability 2 write good tags & summaries has left me
> 
> also this fic is for amy for being a great friend ily
> 
> cws: mention of sex is all i could think of

Peter Nureyev has always been liberal with touch.

It’s a science as much as it is an art – peppering a mark with casual little touches during a night makes them less alert to notice later the point at which your hand lands in their pocket rather than their shoulder.

He prefers to use gloves than not to minimise the skin-to-skin aspect, but it’s no big deal. In fact, whether he’s wearing gloves or no, the habit long ago transferred from a thing he makes sure to do to one he has to make sure _not_ to.

Some aliases are more obnoxious than others, a little less concerned around personal space, but it’s a trait that has bled through names and passports and unconsciously into Peter Nureyev himself, as he learns very quickly once he boards the Carte Blanche: he gets a knife thrown at him within 48 hours because of a subconscious graze of fingers over Vespa’s shoulder as he leans past her to get the sugar for his tea.

He’s very careful not to touch Juno at first.

But then that all gets sorted, and he’s pretty sure the crew cotton on to the fact that they’re sleeping together far before they announce their relationship to anyone – if not because of the thin walls and Juno’s voice, then because of the way Peter touches him. Once the dam has broken, even Peter’s best efforts to keep his hands to himself are often not enough.

Peter and Rita are often the first ones awake. For many years his sleep pattern has kept his natural circadian rhythm somewhat of an enigma to himself, but he finds he is an early bird once he settles into the Aurinko crime family’s structured routine. For her part, Rita insists on waking to catch the early morning broadcast of one of her streams.

At first, they’d eaten together companionably, but hardly interacted often. Peter would sort through and hide away his day’s worth of insecurities over a sickly-sweet black coffee and, a few seats away at the kitchen bench, Rita would gasp at her comms screen and say, “Can you _believe_ that just happened?” at him periodically through a mouthful of sugary cereal.

Then Peter had made the mistake of asking her what she was watching. Then Peter had made the mistake of becoming hooked. The show itself is _so_ irresponsibly inaccurate it pains some respectable part of Peter to watch, but he’s always had a soft spot for soaps.

They sit like this one morning, watching the season finale. Rita has a spoon halfway to her gaping mouth and Peter’s coffee has gone stone cold. Nothing could tear his eyes away from the screen.

Nothing, it seems, except for the soft pad of footsteps on the kitchen floor.

Nureyev pauses Rita’s comms and takes the comms-piece out of his ear.

“Oh, I _know_ you didn’t just do that!” Rita slams her spoon down, milk splattering her shirt, but Nureyev isn’t listening.

“What’s going on in here?” Juno asks, “You’re not unionising against me, are you?”

The sight of Juno in the doorway – sleepy-eyed with curls flopping into his face, boxer shorts and an old stretched t-shirt – sets off giddy little fireworks in Peter Nureyev’s chest that are truly, _truly_ unprofessional. What is also unprofessional is the small spark of joy at knowing that Juno woke up likely in the same way that Peter did: alone, with fresh bruises and the solid, satisfied feeling that comes after a… productive night.

“Good morning, Juno.”

“Morning,” Juno’s eyes seem to properly land on him for the first time, and he goes a little flushed, “How’d you… uh. Sleep?”

“Oh, _very_ solidly,” Peter sends him a quick wink. “Only, I find those bunks can get so _cold_ at night. They really make you wish you had somebody to curl up beside, don’t you find?”

“Uhh,” Juno says, and grins – a little flustered smile that Peter wants to smooch right off of his gorgeous lips, “’s crossed my mind a few times, I guess.”

“Can you _please_ stop flirting with my ex-boss and get back to the _finale already?_ ” Rita vibrates in her seat like she’s about to burst.

Nureyev answers automatically, turning to her, “Why? Does it make you jealous, dear?”

Rita stops abruptly. Then she snorts, her whole face wrinkling up like she’s trying not to laugh right in his face. She swallows down her giggles and says, “No offense, Mistah Ransom, but I think you, me, and the bottle of Year 2567 Merlot we drank a couple weekends ago know the ladies aren’t really your type.”

Peter blinks. Well. Perhaps his natural instincts to flirt and seduce don’t work too well after a few late-night tipsy sleepovers and half-giggled admissions with the person he tries to use those instincts on. Peter files away the hit to his dignity, but Rita isn’t done

“ _Well_ ,” she says, glancing past Peter and waggling her eyebrows, “Maybe with one or two exceptions, ain’t that right, Mistah Steel?”

“Rita,” Juno grits through his teeth.

“Whatever you say, boss,” Rita says, and then she nudges Peter, “Can we get back to the stream now, please, please, please, please, _please?_ ”

“I think we better. I’ve suffered enough embarrassment for the moment, not to mention that even _thinking_ about that bottle of wine makes my temples ache,” Nureyev puts the comms-piece back in his ear, and Rita squeals in joy and hits play.

Juno putters around the kitchen making himself a coffee and fixing himself a bowl of Rita’s terrible cereal and some toast, and then sits down on the barstool beside Nureyev.

Nureyev is still watching the screen when his hand brushes Juno’s, and he absentmindedly takes it, twisting their fingers together. He only realises he’s done it when he feels Juno go a little stiff beside him.

They haven’t really talked physical affection, or at least, aside from anything that would give them away to the rest of the crew, Peter isn’t aware of any reservations Juno has to casual touch – he goes to take his hand away just in case, already making a mental cabinet to file the conversation in for later, when Juno runs his thumb over the back of Peter’s hand.

Peter relaxes, his mind uncluttering enough that he can refocus back to the stream on Rita’s comms screen. He senses more than anything Juno looking over his shoulder, and leans forward quickly to swipe on subtitles.

When he does, he hears Juno chuckle, and he squeezes his hand. His fingers are rough and warm, and they soothe Peter just as much as the simple feeling of them intertwined with his makes his heart race, like he’s sixteen sneaking out of a hideaway at three in the morning to meet a boy without Mag knowing all over again.

The memory threatens to ruin his mood, so he packs it away and re-grounds himself in the current moment. It’s… nice, he thinks. To sit watching a stream with someone who is rapidly becoming a good friend, holding hands with someone who is slowly warming his entire cold world.

It’s a little something like belonging, Peter thinks, which scares him. Which makes him do stupid things sometimes, like cut himself off just to keep himself from submitting completely to this little idea of family.

He’d had a biological family, he assumes, and lost it. Then he’d had a sour little family of father and son, and lost that. They say the third time is the charm.

They also say three strikes, and you’re out.

Juno squeezes his hand again, and then Buddy Aurinko walks into the room, causing a commotion as she loudly greets the family and deals with the wrath of interrupting Rita’s experience of the great climax of the stream.

Oh well. A great thief had always told him that a little imagination was a good thing, but that Peter had always been prone to too much. Juno’s fingers slip from his the second they’re interrupted and that, along with the entrance of his employer, reminding him of the very contractual reality of the six of their relationship, shatters Nureyev’s little fantasy, leaving nothing to show for it.

Nothing, perhaps, except for a lingering warmth in his hand -- a little fragment to prove, to him if not to anyone else, that he is not entirely a fool for hoping. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks everyone for ur comments :'000 i havent responded yet but i will

Another thing about Peter, a habit that has bled through until it has become an ingrained part of him, is that he’s quiet when he walks.

He can’t even remember, really, learning how to walk in ways that minimise the sound of his shoes against the floor. He can vaguely remember training – walking on bars in empty school-gyms on weekends after dark, the closest thing he ever got to a formal education. He used to walk the halls, picking out which classrooms he would've liked to have been his and imagining the kinds of friends he would've liked to have made during school lunches – but either way it has become somewhat of a conscious effort to make his presence actively known in a room.

Perhaps that is why so many of his aliases are so unignorable – invisibility is his natural state; he so rarely gets to enjoy the luxuries of being _seen_.

No, it runs a little deeper than that – as a mercenary, he is all too familiar with being the most expendable person in a room. A tool that others use. Why would he not live in an illusion of grandeur and self-importance when the reality is so bitter?

Here is the question without an answer: who is Peter Nureyev? Playing a role comes so easily to him that he is sometimes afraid a patchwork of aliases is all that’s left – he is a self-made man in more than one sense, and his original copy seems at times to be a text written in a language he no longer remembers how to speak. He catches glimpses of words and phrases, but can’t figure out the context. For example: he believes Peter Nureyev is an introvert – or is he? Maybe he’s simply never had the chance to be any other way. His aliases tend to be firmly the opposite, after all, though he supposes starving oneself of attention entitles one to a few compulsive binges every now and again.

Or maybe he’s an overthinker with a tendency towards prose. Oh, well. The solution, as with learning any language, is immersion. At least the Carte Blanche gives him that. One member of it in particular.

This is where the quietness part comes in: Juno.

Juno is sitting at a desk with a pen to his lips and a frustrated scowl on his face, digging through a few files and every now and then making a few jabs at his comms. Nureyev has been lounging on Juno’s bed for some time, reading, but when Juno lets a small growl of frustration out, he stands.

He wraps his arms around Juno from behind—and Juno jolts, yelping. Nureyev whips his hands away again like he’s been burned.

“Jesus—don’t sneak up on me!” Juno snaps, “You’re lucky I didn’t hit you.”

“I’m—sorry,” Peter steps back, a little bewildered and frightened, “Sorry. I hadn’t noticed you hadn’t realised I was so close.”

“Yeah, well,” Juno scrubs a hand over his face, “Give a lady half a warning, okay? I’m not… I don’t like being touched unexpectedly.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter says again, now feeling, more than anything, a little embarrassed. He should have known.

“’S fine, Nureyev,” Juno murmurs, nursing his forehead.

“Let me try again,” Nureyev says.

“What.”

“Let me try again,” Nureyev repeats, “Go back to doing your paperwork.”

“…Okay,” Juno puts both his hands flat on the desk and spends a moment finding his spot. Then he picks up his pen again, and starts scribbling a number down.

“Incoming,” Peter says, and wraps his arms around Juno from behind.

Juno breathes a long breath out of his nose, and leans back in his chair. He’s quiet for a moment, and Peter gets the sense he’s trying to decide whether to be funny or sincere.

“Thanks,” Juno says.

Peter kisses his cheek, “What are you working on?”

“Finance stuff, I guess,” Juno sighs. The chair creaks as he leans forward again, “Now that Rita doesn’t work for me, I’m have to start taking care of all my own shit. Not that… Not that it was great that I had Rita take care of all my personal shit in the first place, anyway? But now I’m…”

Juno shakes his head and laughs a little, “I’m forty years old and I’m not a hundred percent sure I know how to sort out my bank accounts.”

“Mm,” Nureyev’s hands slide down Juno’s chest to rest on his tummy, warm and soft under his fingers. Juno is always warm, and Peter curses the back of the chair from stopping him from being able to press right up to that warmth, to curl Juno in his arms and soak him in. He aches for more contact, and settles for tapping his fingertips on the woven material of Juno’s jumper, “That sounds difficult.”

“You don’t have to say that. I know it’s pathetic,” Juno grumbles.

Peter frowns, and presses his lips to Juno’s cheek again in a short kiss, “It’s not. We all have to start at some point. Perhaps it’s taken you a little later than most, but that only makes it harder to start.”

He hesitates, “You know… I have rather… _extensive_ knowledge of the inner workings of most major banks. And with the amount of accounts I open and close and transfer money through, my knowledge of accounts is fairly exhaustive, too. I’d be happy to help you, if you think you might need it.”

“Thanks, babe, but you don’t have to do that. It’s fine.”

“I’d really rather help you out,” Peter insists, “I don’t like seeing you so frustrated.” Then he gives a short nip to Juno’s ear, “Especially not when you could have this over and done with, and I could help you out in ways I think we would both find far more enjoyable.”

He lets one hand slide down between Juno’s thighs, giving a gentle but promising squeeze to the crotch of his pants, and Juno tips his head back to let Peter kiss him upside down.

“Well, when you put it like that…” Juno says when they part, a crooked smile on his face.

Peter spreads out Juno’s documents on his bed and sorts them out into relevant piles. Most of them seem to be printings of comms screen readouts, or worse, hand-copied versions of comms screen readouts, but Peter swallows his tongue and doesn’t comment. He does, however, get Juno to log in to his bank account online.

“The first thing we’re doing is changing your PIN,” Peter says.

“What? My PIN is fine. Did you _watch_ me put it in?”

“I had to test my suspicions. And I was correct. Really, love, you ought to be a little more secure. 33332?”

Juno scowls at him, “It’s a good PIN.”

Peter gives him a look, and Juno grumbles at him and messes around on his comms. “There, fine.”

“What’s the new one?”

“What, so you can drain my bank accounts?”

“Juno.”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Because it’s just as likely you just changed it to 22223,” Peter raises an eyebrow at him, “I’m not going to steal your money, Juno. What is it?”

Juno mumbles under his breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“…73837,” Juno says, glancing away like he’s hoping Peter won’t catch on to something.

He does. A smile crawls onto Peter’s face.

“Shut up,” Juno says.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You’re about to,” Juno mutters.

“Only I find it flattering you think of me so highly, sweet. I mean, really. Protecting your hard-earned money with my name? It’s the sort of thing that I might even call romantic.”

“Right on cue,” Juno says. “Shut up about the PIN, or I’ll change it. I just needed something I could remember easily, and Juno only has four letters.”

“Sure,” Peter says brightly, with the full intention of never shutting up about the PIN, but on rather temporarily dropping the subject for now. “Now, let me have a look-see.”

For a few more hours, the two of them work through Juno’s financials. Peter explains the process the whole way along, as best as he can, and Juno sits cross-legged, looking a little lost and a little embarrassed, but seems to follow for the most part.

When Juno starts to rub at his eye, though, Peter stops.

“I think that might be enough paperwork for one day,” he says.

“You’re not kidding,” Juno grunts. “I’ve got a headache that’d make a sewer rabbit lie down.”

“Would you like some water?” Nureyev asks.

Juno shakes his head, opting instead for scooping up the piles of paper and dumping them in a stack on the floor, “If it’s all the same to you, I think you have a promise to make up to me first.”

“Ah,” Peter grins, “I think I might.”

Peter leans over to kiss him, one hand tracing over Juno’s warm tummy again before Juno pulls away.

“Thanks for your help,” Juno’s voice comes out a little scratchy as it tends to when he’s being sincere. “I… appreciate it. A lot, Nureyev. Really.”

Nureyev smiles. “It’s nice to feel like I can be capable of helping, at times,” he says, and then kisses Juno again, and again, and guides him gently down to the mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank god for tpp putting in a throwaway line about junos pin number being 33332


	3. Chapter 3

Ostentatious is a word that Peter Nureyev has always rather liked, if he’s being perfectly honest.

At his core, nestled right in close among the often-unintelligible details of his moral code, lives a bubbling, potent kind of rage towards the wealthy. It is as core a part of him as is the intimate memory of the feeling of the coarse Brahmese streets under his back every night for years.

He buries that rage deep down on heists – down far enough that he can laugh and schmooze, listen to their cruel jokes and first world problems and _almost_ forget that every time a billionaire batters their eyelashes, a family on the Outer Rim loses their home.

But for all his hatred, Nureyev has little trouble with flashing his own signs of wealth and success. He has done heists where he has worn stolen jewellery through the doors, done a quick bathroom change, and left again with more stolen jewellery adorning his fingers and neck than he came in with, every piece of it a personal statement on the hatred he holds for people so unconcerned with matters of the world and so _filthily_ rich that they can’t be bothered to recognise their own priceless goods being swiped from their own houses by their distinguished guests.

Five star hotels, expensive alcohol, the latest in – well, everything. Peter Nureyev may not have a cent to his name, but he does love to show off how much he can spend other people’s money. Ostentatious, to him, is a compliment – a signifier of status he’s made for himself out off the misfortune of the types that would have seen him as a child starve.

It’s not just his appearance – he knows his personality is ostentatious as well, all concerned with drama and attention and pretentious displays of knowledge. That has a little simpler explanation. So he’s a theatre kid with a complex about needing to be important. Sue him. Really. He dares you to even try.

He finds a different definition for ostentatious aboard the Carte Blanche. Namely, he finds himself so giddily pleased and satisfied with the fact that he, yes, Peter Nureyev, has wound up in a _relationship_ , that he can’t quite help but be showy.

Which is to say that if he was a little handsy before their relationship went public, then after Juno told Rita and Rita told everybody else, Peter began to embody a whole new definition of handsy.

Family nights aboard the Carte Blanche are twice a week, a bonding venture where all kinds of different activities are proposed as ways for the crew to get to know each other. Nureyev resents these nights – not because he’s against the idea of bonding, per se, but rather more because he has a wickedly competitive streak and tends to end the night worked up and more than a little frustrated that Vespa has won at Jenga _again_ , despite him clearly seeing that Buddy conveniently glanced away when Vespa bent the rules thank you very much.

Needless to say, calmer family nights are better for everyone involved. Tonight’s is a movie, an old heist movie based off one of Buddy and Vespa’s more famous jobs. Peter is familiar with the details of the real heist inside and out, and raises his eyebrow at a few moments in which details have been… clearly embellished. It’s no real surprise it’s one of Buddy’s favourite movies.

“ _Wow_ ,” Rita breathes from the floor, where she has Jet’s big tan jacket over her back and is kicking her legs, “Did this really happen, Captain A?”

The rest of them are sitting on a large, U-shaped sofa. Jet is sitting in the middle part. “Yes,” he says solemnly.

“Well, they’ve given us a _little_ poetic license, darling, but it’s certainly very close,” Buddy says, where she’s sitting sprawled on one of the arms of the U, Vespa tucked into her side.

Vespa snorts, “You’re just saying that because they gave you all the stunts. It wasn’t nearly this cool in real life.”

“It’s fairly accurate to how I remember it,” Buddy says.

“Yeah. Because you’ve watched this movie probably more times than you’ve thought about the heist. You dragged me to the goddamn premiere, remember?”

Buddy smiles with one side of her scarred mouth, “I certainly remember being too distracted to watch the movie.”

“Shut up,” Vespa growls, her own smile embarrassed, landing a gentle punch to Buddy’s side, and then a kiss to her shoulder.

Peter drags his eyes away from the two of them, cuddled up together, and glances across at Juno. He’s sitting on the other arm of the U, one knee up and otherwise relaxed back into the couch, one arm thrown over the back. He looks very comfortable, in a cropped jumper that leaves a little glimpse of warm brown skin before his sweatpants start.

Nureyev suddenly feels very cold, and acutely alone.

He’s still not entirely sure how Juno feels about PDA, and certainly he’s not one to embarrass his partner, no matter how happy Buddy and Vespa look right now, and how badly he itches to show off that he too can be loved like that, if not even better.

Peter slides over on the couch and slots himself neatly against Juno’s side. He feels a little warmer immediately, especially when the arm on the back of the couch moves to fall over Nureyev’s shoulders.

This is perfect. He turns a little so that he’s almost on his side, throws one leg between Juno’s and wraps an arm around his chest. He presses a short kiss to Juno’s jaw, “Enjoying the movie?”

“I’m certainly enjoying you cuddling me,” Juno responds, and Peter lights up with delight when he turns his head to quickly press his lips to Peter's.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d rather be left alone,” he says, cautiously.

Juno shakes his head a little, eyes still mainly focused on the screen. Peter takes that to mean that he has more to say but is preoccupied right now, and settles for resting his head on Juno’s shoulder and closing his eyes.

Peter doesn’t get to see the rest of the movie. He feels the rise and fall of Juno’s chest as he breathes, hears the gentle throb of his heart and the low hum of his body, and basks in the full, safe feeling in his heart. He shifts his head slightly against Juno's shoulder and feels, certainly, and against his better judgement, entirely at home.

Then he opens his eyes with a soft snort to a pitch-black room, and an empty couch.

Well, almost empty. Two arms come up and wrap around his back, and a body shifts underneath him. Juno makes a sleepy questioning sound.

Peter is lying on top of him. Juno is lying back on the couch and Peter is lying on top of him, and everybody else has gone. He shifts on Juno’s body and looks for the nearest clock, which glows angry red numbers above the doorframe. 3:48am.

He is too tired to really bother with making sense of the situation. He's far more concerned with how comfortable Juno is and how much happier he would feel if he was cuddling him again. Nureyev blinks his sleepy eyes, and lies back down on Juno’s chest. He presses his ear to hear the thump-thump, thump-thump, of Juno’s heart, and falls back asleep within minutes.

“Rise and shine, lovebirds!”

Juno jolts awake, and Peter is jolted awake when the movement sends him tumbling off of Juno’s stomach and onto the floor. He lands on his back, entirely disoriented.

“Shit! Are you okay, babe?”

“Wh—what? _Ow,_ ” Peter rubs at his stiff neck and blinks up at the lounge room ceiling. He sits up and finds Juno half propped up on the couch. Vespa is standing near the door, looking entirely unimpressed.

“You’re late for breakfast, idiots,” Vespa says, “Everybody else is waiting and Buddy says we can’t eat until you both get into the kitchen, so you better hurry up. I’m hungry.”

Vespa walks out of the room. Peter gets up and stretches back, his vertebrae crackling.

Juno groans, and stands up as well, “You sleep alright?”

Peter lowers his arms and feels the ache in his neck, the uncomfortable kind of stiffness in his spine, and the lingering tiredness hanging around his eyes, which are probably as hideously makeup-smudged as the rest of his face. His mouth feels dirty like it does when he doesn’t brush his teeth.

He looks at Juno, with curls shoved in odd patterns on top of his head, and the wrinkles on his face etched a little deeper with the way his face is a bit puffy from just waking up. He remembers warm arms, a soft body, a solid heartbeat. He remembers feeling, for the first time in a long time, safe. 

Peter smiles, “Do you know what, dear? I can’t remember the last time I slept better.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: theres some exploration of depression symptoms in this though its not very heavy

One thing Peter Nureyev is _not_ is a flawlessly supportive partner. Or even a very good one.

He honestly tries to be. It’s not as though he wishes to have Juno upset, or is apathetic when he is. To his credit, he has only just begun learning to acknowledge and identify his _own_ emotions, much less learn how to effectively manage them in a way that’s healthy.

To his discredit, however, inexperience doesn’t excuse him at all when the mistakes he makes along the way lead to arguments or tears, or a general feeling of helplessness that engulfs him like a dark and bottomless ocean. He becomes unprofessionally frustrated with his own inability to articulate how he feels, and feels inadequate in the face of trying to help when Juno’s own emotions take over him.

They had a fight last night.

It hadn’t been too bad, Peter had thought. No low blows had been dealt, no voices had been raised. But it was still a fight, and Peter finds himself at breakfast the next morning, staring at Juno’s empty seat, pouring over every word that he said.

He’d obviously hit a nerve somewhere, because nobody has seen or heard from Juno all morning, apart from Buddy, who came back from checking on him only to confirm that he was in fact awake. Peter curses his tactlessness. He is so good at faking social literacy, all his skill points spent on finding egos to stroke and facets of people’s personalities to manipulate, lies to spin to de-escalate conflict and cast off suspicion, that he’d really fooled himself into thinking he was quite adept at dealing with people and their emotions.

In retrospect, he realises he should have known – all of the aforementioned skills are derivatives of lying, deceit, dishonesty. None of which are skills he plans on turning on Juno. Just like every other part of Peter Nureyev, when faced with honesty, his so-called expertise sputters and flickers out like the façade it is.

Peter stabs suddenly at his breakfast. This is ridiculous, actually. He has thought over his words all morning, and can’t think of a single thing he said wrong. If Juno is going to be petty about it, so be it. Peter can’t see himself with someone who overreacts so much, anyway.

That thought makes him feel suddenly ill. Juno has suffered through more than his fair share of Peter’s pettiness, and here he is having thoughts like _that_ at the smallest sign of him getting a taste of his own medicine.

No, he decides. He will find a way to make amends, and try to do what he can to sympathise with Juno’s concerns. It’s the least he can do.

After he finishes eating, Peter goes to Juno’s quarters. He knocks on the door.

No answer.

“Juno? It’s me, love.”

No answer.

Peter knocks again, “Buddy told me you were awake, you know. Juno, I just want to talk.”

Finally, a muffled voice replies, “Leave me alone, Nureyev.”

Peter leans his forehead against the door and sighs, “Please. I just want to help.”

“I’ll be fine,” Juno says. “Just… leave me alone.”

Peter turns so that his back is resting against the door. He feels the tight knot of muscles in his frown, the tight knot of anxiety in his stomach. He breathes in, out, and forces himself to rationalise.

It could be simply that Juno needs his space. If Nureyev is to be a good partner, that includes recognising when his help is… not wanted. Or perhaps inadequate for the situation. Peter tips his head back, “Would you like me to get Rita?”

The frustrated groan that Peter hears from under what sounds like many layers of blankets serves as answer enough. At least that means, hopefully, that the issue isn’t _solely_ with Peter.

As he often has to when his own knowledge on how to maintain relationships of any sort fails him, Peter goes to consult a higher power.

* * *

“Oh, puh-lease. He didn’t mean it, Mistah Ransom. That’s the first thing you _gotta_ know.”

Peter, perched on the end of Rita’s bed, blinks, “Pardon?”

“The thing about knowing Mistah Steel is you gotta know when he means what he says and when he doesn’t. Cause I promise you, eighty-eight point nine percent of the time, when he says he wants to be alone, he doesn’t really.” Rita nods wisely.

“And… the rest of the time?”

“We-ell, usually that’s when he yells at me really hard and I gotta take the rest of the week off on accounta my delicate constitution,” Rita says.

Peter presses his lips together in a line, “So you just ignore what he says and are usually right?”

“I’ll admit to having an advantage seeing as I’m much prettier and a better friend of Mistah Steel’s than you, no offense,” Rita shrugs her shoulders. “But if I were you I’d burst right in there with a hot chocolate and a smile, and just don’t let him tell you he wants you to go away, no matter what. That’s been my tactic for twenty years, Mistah Ransom, and I’m still here, ain’t I?”

“I suppose,” Peter says.

Rita leans over to pat him on the knee, “Just trust your pal Rita. I’m ninety-nine percent certain Mistah Steel probably won’t be mad.”

Rita’s advice feels… somewhat contradictory to everything Buddy has ever said about communicating and respecting the boundaries the two of them set. Still, her point has to have _some_ merit. And perhaps if Juno is feeling down after their fight, seeing Peter clearly having moved on from it will help him feel better.

So he goes to the kitchen and makes a hot chocolate, and then walks back to Juno’s room. He breathes in, and hesitates… and knocks. “Juno? I’m coming in.”

He pauses just long enough for Juno to shout something to him, and then presses the button on his door and enters.

The lights in Juno’s room are off. All that is discernible is a heaving lump of blankets in the middle of the bed, twisted like someone with their knees to their chest.

“Go away,” Juno says.

Peter swallows, and closes the door behind him, “I don’t think I will, thank you.”

Juno groans, “Great. Just what I need: you to turn out to be just like Rita.”

That makes Peter almost trip over his own feet as he walks to the bedside table. He puts the hot chocolate down, and then sits on the edge of the bed, worried he’s making a deep mistake.

His hand hovers over the main lump of Juno’s body on the bed, but after a moment he re-thinks it and pulls his hand away again. “If you actually want me to leave, I will,” he says.

Juno just grunts, non-committal.

Peter sighs. He puts his hands in his lap and frowns down at them. “Juno. I have a feeling I’ve offended you.”

Juno shifts on the bed, turning around in his cocoon of blankets. His dark curls poke out from the top of the nest, and in any other circumstance Peter might think it was funny.

“What?” Juno asks.

“I’ve been thinking about our fight last night,” Peter says. “Obviously, something I said upset you. I don’t know what it was, but I’d like to know so that I can make sure not to bring it up again.”

Juno shifts again, and props himself up on his elbows. The blankets fall away from his face. He’s not wearing his eyepatch, and Peter’s been allowed to see Juno without it few enough times that he glances away for Juno’s modesty.

“What?” Juno repeats. “Fucking hell, Nureyev. We fought over the stupid stream you wanted to watch. It was nothing.”

“Well—that’s what I thought, too. But then you didn’t come to breakfast this morning, and I thought that maybe—”

Juno flops back down onto the blankets with a tired huff of breath, “I’m not mad at you, Nureyev. Jesus. I’m just… having a day, alright?”

“Oh,” Peter says. He tries not to let himself feel too relieved. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

“Probably not,” Juno mutters. “Just leave me alone. I’ll be fine tomorrow. Maybe.”

“Well, that hardly seems pleasant. Surely there’s something you want to do,” Nureyev prompts. “We could watch a movie, if you’d like?”

Juno sighs. “I know this sounds bad,” he says slowly, “But to be honest with you, Nureyev, I kind of just want to lie here and be sad today.”

Nureyev bites his lip, “It could be a sad movie?”

Juno doesn’t answer him.

“Is there anything in particular you’re sad about?”

“Yes. No. There’s nothing for me to be sad about now, I guess, I’m just… sad about old things. Or maybe just being sad in general makes me think of sad old things. Doesn’t really matter, point is you’re not going to fix it.”

Peter nods his head.

They sit in silence for a while, while Peter thinks.

“Alright,” he says at last, “Scoot over.”

“What?” Juno growls.

“If you’re going to lie here and be sad, then I’m going to lie here and be sad with you.”

“I’m serious, Nureyev, I don’t want cheering up.”

“I’m not going to cheer you up,” Peter says. “You said yourself there’s little I can do. I respect that, Juno, I’m not going to push. But I’d rather you’re sad with me than sad alone. Is that alright?”

Juno shifts over in the bed. His eye peers out at him from the top of the blankets, “It’s not going to be any fun.”

“Dear, getting to be with you and doing anything is fun,” Peter says cheerily, and kicks off his shoes.

He slides into bed beside Juno, and then curls up around him, so that Juno’s back is pressed to his chest. He’s so warm he could almost be considered hot to the touch, and Peter presses a kiss to the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Juno mumbles.

“For what?”

Juno shrugs his shoulders. “Being like this, I guess.”

Peter hums and kisses him again, “You don’t have to apologise. If anything..." Peter sighs. "I… I often feel as though I’m not properly equipped to help you at times like this. I’m sorry I’m not a little better at knowing how to deal—”

“You’re fine, Nureyev,” Juno cuts him off. “This is… this is fine. It’s not your personal duty to fix me every time I’m sad, just… just understand it when it happens, and don’t take it personally.”

“Okay,” Peter says.

It’s a little too sweaty and a little too still and boring at times for Peter’s busy mind, but he doesn’t mind. The hot chocolate he made goes cold on the bedside table. Peter thinks Juno cries a few times, silently, with only the soft shake of his shoulders to give him away, but he doesn’t intervene. He keeps his arm around Juno’s waist and his lips to the back of Juno’s neck, and holds him.

Eventually, Juno shifts a little, and says, “If you really want to stay, you can put something on if you want.”

“Would you like to watch something?”

“Nah,” Juno says. He rolls over to face Peter, “But… I think I might like it if you did.”

“Alright.”

Peter shifts up in bed and pulls his comms out of his pocket, “I don’t have headphones.”

“That’s alright.”

Peter picks out a show he’d started watching recently and trailed off halfway through, and nestles back in the blankets. He keeps the volume down.

Juno rests his head on Peter’s chest. He doesn’t watch, just as he said he wouldn’t, but he lies half on Peter while Peter does, his thumb stroking little patterns into Peter’s side.

“Thanks,” Juno says quietly at last, his voice a little croaky. It has never pained Peter more that he’s not on the right angle to lean down and kiss him.

 _Thank you_ , he thinks. _Thank you for the opportunity to grow, and learn, as your partner and as Peter Nureyev._

And _I love you_ , he thinks. _I will love you whether you spend two days a week like this or two days a month like this. For as long as you need, I will always want to do this with you._

He tangles a hand in Juno’s hair instead. Brushes his fingers through gently and hopes he gets the message across.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: ah i cant write a chapter tonight i have 0 ideas and also am really busy tomorrow  
> me at 1am: unless
> 
> anyway this chapter is a blast to the past, Very different in tone to the other chapters and to the +1 thats going to come after it, and is also known as: the chapter in which i summarise in 1.5k words the several thousand word fic ive been working on since april thus making that fic entirely redundant 
> 
> also CWs this is angst but also hurt comfort and includes,, some mag talk, non-explicit descriptions of sex, and a lot of loneliness :( and peter-typical repression

Here’s a story about Nureyev and touch.

Out of all the ways that one might describe Peter Nureyev’s childhood, ‘unaffectionate’ is perhaps one of the milder terms one could use. The theory of attachment states that children who grow up without physical affection from their parents become insecurely attached – that is, they become somewhat distrusting, introverted, and resistant to change.

Now, Nureyev isn’t sure about all that. The words of long-dead behavioural scientists mean little compared to his lived experiences. And it’s not like Mag didn’t tousle his hand through Peter’s hair when he was proud of him, or carry him on his shoulders around secret hideouts, but…

Maybe that’s where it comes from, his complicated associations. His only experience with physical affection comes from a man whose love and admiration some part of Peter still yearns for with every inch of his body, even as much as his veins pulse with the icy feeling of betrayal at the thought of his name.

Either way, it all began after Brahma. Peter became a solitary man – packed away his loneliness, his grief, his fear and anxiety into neat little boxes and pushed them firmly under the metaphorical bed. He set out across the galaxy determined to prove that he could do everything Mag had wanted and more, and all entirely alone.

The first time Peter attempted a seduction heist, he burst into tears.

It’s honestly an embarrassing story. He was so young – just a few years into adulthood – and hadn’t quite learned how to control sudden outbursts of emotion just yet. He planned on sleeping with a man to get his hands on some well-hidden information. What happened instead was that the man pulled Peter into a gentle hug outside a restaurant.

The feeling it had torn open in him had been one of the most terrifying things Peter Nureyev has ever experienced. A gap right in his chest through which he caught his first glimpse of all the pain he had buried so neatly away, festered into something that threatened to destroy him if it got out.

Peter had pushed his mark away. How had this man had so much power over Nureyev? And what could he do to him if he learned how to use it?

Nobody, he decided, should ever make him feel like that again.

The restaurant that night had gone up in flames, the owners finding themselves the next morning with a desecrated business and a few thousand less creds. Peter Nureyev did not feel bad about it at all.

And so began the cycle Buddy identified – the battle of tug-of-war over his moral core. He would do good things until the world reminded him of how easily his fragile little heart could be manipulated, then he would bury the optimist inside of him and do bad things to prove he didn’t need anybody but himself, cold and detached, to survive.

At times he seemed close to eradicating his inner optimist entirely. Other times he felt close to being able to give up his con-bono efforts permanently.

But the craving to be touched, held – to have one’s fingers brush slowly through his hair, to feel someone breathe and laugh and sigh against his chest… that never quite died, no matter how often he buried it.

So it became a case of managing it, rather than trying to suppress it completely. When it got at its worst, he seduced people. Went to sleazy clubs and picked up the first man to look his way. He would control the ways they touched him. Make sure none of them had the chance to hold him close in the aftermath. He would be careful – he was always so fragile just after sex, so weak-willed and tempted to give in to the craving to play at being wanted for a while.

That isn’t to say that at times there weren’t long-term lovers, people he visited on occasion between gallivanting across the galaxy, but even they came with an expiry date – an invisible line that, when crossed, would result in a swift and efficient breakup. Cuddles and kisses were nice, but Peter couldn’t have himself go soft. Become dependent on others, and he may forget to protect himself from the big, mean world.

How’s that for a first rule of thieving?

Juno, he’d thought, could become one of those long-term lovers. A handsome lady just his type, with a quick brain and smart tongue. He was someone Peter could see himself becoming very enamoured with, in the right circumstance. Maybe he could date Rex Glass. At least for a while.

Then Juno had touched him.

If the touch of the mark in his seduction heist had ripped him in two, Juno’s touch pulled him gently apart at the seams. The press of his mouth against Peter’s, warm and soft – his rough hands clutching to his shirt like he needed Nureyev like he needed air.

Juno had seen right through Rex Glass. He had looked at him and his eyes were strong and certain and pinned straight through his layers, pinned on Peter Nureyev, and for a second Peter glanced a world in which he would never have to be anybody else ever again.

When they had sex, that night after the tomb, Peter burst into tears.

He had had his suspicions about Juno’s proclivities in bed, and was satisfied to learn he’d been right in picking up a strap while he’d been milling about a shopping mall while Juno was in the operating theatre, _just_ in case.

What he hadn’t counted on was Juno flipping them after he’d finished, on kissing the line of Peter’s throat, then down over the plane of his body, on his scars, around his belly-button, on… Juno _touching_ him, so thoroughly.

Juno had run his hands up and down Peter’s stomach and thighs as he ate Peter out. His climax had almost been secondary to that – just the feeling of Juno’s fingers over his skin. And Peter had cried.

“Are you alright?” Juno had asked, and Peter didn’t have the words to express the magnitude of what he was feeling, the awe and the safety and the promise of finally getting to have what he’d denied himself, what he’d thought impossible, for so long. He’d only been able to nod and let Juno hold him until he calmed down. Until he laughed and apologised, brushing it off on stress release. Until he rolled away and said, smiling…

Well. He said what he said. That doesn’t matter.

It took him a long time before he was able to touch Juno freely again.

The gilded globe heist was like torture. Everywhere Juno touched, Peter burned. Later in the night, as they danced and squeezed hands, Peter had to fight to file away every single sensation that could have distracted him, could have sent his focus spiraling off from the success of their mission again.

After they began to talk, Peter didn't let Juno touch him.

He tried – a hand on Peter’s knee, or a brush of their hands while Juno gesticulated – but Peter brushed him off. No matter what they became to each other, Peter had learned his lesson time and time again. It only ends in betrayal. It only ever does.

As for where exactly that changed, well. Peter Nureyev has always been a hypocrite, and one to spite his own rules.

He ended up spilling his guts about the whole thing, and Juno had sagged with new waves of hurt and pity, an apology welling up on his face before he’d opened his mouth to speak it.

“It’s fine,” he said, “Juno, I promise you. It’s fine, now.”

“Nureyev—” Juno groaned, “I’m so sorry. I am _so, so—”_

“Juno,” Peter had grabbed his hand. Had brought it to his chest and let it rest there, “It’s fine.”

Juno had looked up at him. He’d smiled that crooked, firelight smile. His thumb had run gently over Nureyev’s chest.

“For what it’s worth,” Juno had said, “It… felt nice. Holding you. It… was something I wanted to keep doing for as long as I could. One of the main reasons it took me so long to leave.”

“Could you—” Peter’s throat had closed over.

Juno only cocked his head, silently inviting more.

Peter’s mouth had opened and shut, his eyes burned, his chest fought to push the words in his throat out onto his tongue. In the end, he’d rephrased.

“I’d like to hug you,” Peter said.

Juno softened immediately, “Of course. Of course, Nureyev.”

Juno held him tightly, awkwardly placed on the edge of the bed. Peter felt his own heartbeat thumping rapidly against the warm heat of Juno’s chest, Juno’s head buried in the junction of his shoulder and neck, and his arms wrapped around his back.

The gap inside Peter had opened again – yawning and gaping, threatening to spread outwards, let his ribs collapse into the void centre of himself. He could feel everything he’d filed away, all at once.

The feeling was huge, yes, and overwhelming. And perhaps it would take years before the sense of intimidation around it would go away. But in that one moment, with Juno’s arms around him and his breath hot against Peter’s neck… it didn’t feel so frightening, anymore.

Juno had leaned back, just slightly, “You’re crying. Fuck. Are you okay?”

“Kiss me?” Peter had asked, his eyes closed and his voice high and tight, and Juno had sighed, heavily.

“Yeah,” Juno’s voice came out of him a little breathy and rough. And then he’d added, with a hint of amusement to his voice, “I was beginning to think you’d never ask.”


	6. Chapter 6

There was a period of Juno’s life after Ben died and before Diamond left where he wasn’t _okay_ but he wasn’t _bad_ , yet. At least, nowhere as bad as he would become. In many ways it feels like a reverse period to his life at the moment – then, he had been standing at the top of a hill and feeling the dirt begin to crumble under his feet, with no idea just how steep the fall waiting for him was going to be.

Now, he stands at the bottom of the climb, and as far as he can see it goes on forever – always just as steep, always just as likely to crumble away – but a climb he has to believe has a beautiful view waiting at the top.

Anyway, during that time, Juno had been somewhat of a romantic.

It’s hard to believe now, he knows. And he certainly is out of practise. The last twenty years or so of relationships have involved a lot of slammed doors, bursts of passion, and steadfastly avoiding confrontation wherever possible. But Juno had used to be the kind to curl up in his partner’s lap and try to tempt them into cuddling on the couch instead of watching TV.

 _Clingy_ , Diamond had called him. _Insufferably clingy._

It was a criticism Juno suffered fairly often.

He knows Peter has a whole thing about needing to be touched. That’s an insensitive way to put it, but whatever. Peter feels loved when Juno is affectionate with him, and Juno is always more than happy enough when Peter reaches out.

It’s just… a little harder to take the initiative.

One of Juno’s weaknesses (one of many) is that he has too many _associations._ He’s not superstitious in the sense of black cats and broken mirrors, but self-fulfilling prophecies are one of his greatest stumbling blocks, and over time he learns the first steps of his destructive cycles and avoids them like cracks in pavement.

It goes like this: get comfy with being affectionate with Peter --> Get _too_ comfy with being affectionate with Peter --> Piss him off with his neediness and inability to tell when he wants to be left alone --> Peter starts to get snappy --> Juno responds, as he always does, with getting snappier back --> Their consequent arguments increase in frequency --> the things Peter feels for Juno dry up until all that’s left is a vaguely tactful breakup, if he’s lucky.

He knows the fact that he is so hesitant to be affectionate makes Peter nervous. He sees it in the way that Peter always glances at him a few times before going to touch him. And he knows it’s stupid, because they’re doing things properly and communicating about things when they can. But he still feels nervous about it – about misjudging the moment or getting too relaxed with him and ruining everything. At least if he waits until Peter reaches out, he knows he won’t overstep.

At least Peter reaches out often. He touches him all the time – an arm around his waist in the kitchen, a kiss to his cheek at the dinner table, making Rita get angry at him for making her ‘feel single’, whatever that means. He likes cuddling Peter. Even when he presses his freezing fingers and toes to Juno’s belly and calves in bed and makes him yelp with the sudden cold.

When Juno can’t find Peter in any of the rooms on the Blanche, it means he’s wandering in the halls, hiding. It also means there’s probably something on his mind.

The good thing about Peter being able to hide so well is that Juno knows that if he wants his company, he’ll let himself be seen. He walks down the halls, trying to make enough noise that Peter has the chance to dart off into some other room or vent.

He turns the corner, and sees Peter standing at a porthole.

“Hey, lost boy,” Juno says as he walks up, and Peter looks over to him and smiles.

“Hello, sweet.”

“Whatcha doin’?” Juno stops at the porthole beside him and glances out at the view. There’s nothing for a way from here, but there are still things to look at. A planet the size of a marble sits in the top right of the port, travelling steadily towards the other side as the ship moves.

“Shiva,” Peter points, and then moves his finger. A small pinprick of light flares in the distance on the far left of the port. “Vishnu.”

He moves his finger again, to an indiscriminate point between the two discernible planets, and taps the reinforced glass.

“Brahma,” Juno says, quietly.

“I see you know your Outer Rim astronomy,” Peter says, lighthearted. “We’ll pass by in a few minutes, and they’ll be gone. All the better reason to catch a glimpse while we can, don’t you think?”

Juno doesn’t know what’s going on in that brain of his, but he knows Peter well enough to know that when he sounds cheery and carefree like that, there’s probably something big and hurting he’s hiding away.

Juno doesn’t think. He just wraps his arm around Peter’s waist.

Peter sighs, and puts his arm around Juno’s shoulders. He tugs him into his side. Juno rests his head on Peter’s shoulder.

Peter leans down and kisses his forehead, and then buries his face into Juno’s hair.

Juno watches the port as the bright light of Vishnu slips out of view. Then, longer, while Shiva makes a slow transit before it follows its sister planet out of sight.

“That stretch of space never gets easier,” Peter mutters, straightening up.

Juno loosens his grip on him, “You gonna be alright?”

Peter swoops down to kiss his forehead again, “Thanks to you, dear, I already am.”

“Good,” Juno says.

“I’m glad you came to find me,” Peter continues. “I hadn’t known how much I needed you to be holding me until you did.”

And the floodgates open.

* * *

“Peter. Peter. Babe. Peter. Peter.”

Nureyev reaches a hand to the comms-piece in his ear. His fingers hover there for a moment while he tries to catch a few more words of whatever it is he’s watching, before he pauses and takes the comms-piece out.

He gives Juno a look, an eyebrow raised, “Juno?”

Juno leans forward and pecks his lips, “Nothing.”

Peter fights to keep his expression neutral. Juno inwardly beams with satisfaction when the corner of his mouth is the first thing to give way, quirking for a moment before the rest of his mouth follows into a goofy smile.

Peter leans forward and kisses Juno back. Then he does it again, longer this time. Juno puts his hand on Peter’s knee, brushing his fingers over the leg of his pants while they kiss.

“Guys,” Vespa’s gruff voice interrupts them. Juno pulls away to see her, knife poised between one slice and the next of the vegetables she’s cutting up for tonight’s salad. “Would it kill you to not act like fucking teenagers for _once_? You’ve got a room, go use it.”

Juno looks up at her and replies deadpan, “That’s a nice hickey you’ve got there, Vespa. Where’d you get it?”

Vespa slaps a hand to her neck, “Shut _up_ , Steel.”

“We promise we’ll behave,” Peter says quickly. “Let me finish my episode, it’s only got a few minutes, and then we’ll take your advice and go use _our room_.”

The last two words he directs pointedly at Juno, raising both his eyebrows.

“You know,” Juno says, grinning a slow smile, “I think I like that plan, babe.”

“I liked it better when you two hated each other,” Vespa mumbles.

Peter goes back to his episode. Juno turns back to the book of puzzles he has spread out in front of him. He taps the pen against his teeth.

“Peter,” he says a second later, and nudges him, “Babe. Peter. Peter.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Vespa’s fingers tighten on her knife.

Peter takes out his comms-piece, “Juno, love. I can give you all the kisses you want in just a moment.”

“Actually, do you figure you could help with this crossword clue?” Juno asks, “I cannot figure it out.”

“Oh,” Peter says. “Sure. Let me have a look.”

“Number 26 down,” Juno slides the book across, and Peter peers down at it.

“Hmm…”

Juno takes the opportunity to let his chin rest on Peter’s shoulder, wrapping one arm around his waist. Peter twines his fingers with Juno’s hand on his stomach.

“Atraxis,” Peter says

“Perfect,” Juno kisses his shoulder and takes the book of puzzles back away again, penning in the answer. “Thanks.”

A few minutes later, Peter puts his comms down, “Alright, episode done.”

“Thank god,” Juno says, “Let’s go.”

They leave the room together, Juno holding on to Peter by the wrist.

Vespa shakes her head at her vegetables, and chops at them.

“Good lord, love. What did those vegetables ever do to you?”

Vespa looks up to see Buddy Aurinko in the doorway, raising an eyebrow. She’s draped halfway in the doorframe.

Vespa relaxes immediately, slicing the rest of a cucumber, “Nothing. Juno and Beanstalk were in here being all… smoochy again.”

Buddy laughs and walks into the kitchen. She comes up behind Vespa, wrapping her arms around her stomach and resting her chin on Vespa’s shoulder, “You’ve got to admit it's heartwarming, don’t you think? A romance blossoming on our own ship.”

Vespa grunts. Then a second later, she shrugs. “They’re good kids, I guess. It’s nice to see them happy.”

“There’s the sap I know and love,” Buddy presses a kiss to Vespa’s cheek, “And besides. I can remember a certain other couple who were… liberal with their displays of public affection, back in the day.”

Vespa smiles down at her knife, “Yeah. I can remember something like that, too. Would've given the two of them a run for their money.”

"Certainly," Buddy squeezes Vespa’s hips and steps away, “Love, when you’re done with the vegetables... how about you come back to our cabin?”

Vespa puts her knife down. She turns, eyeing Buddy up and down. “Captain’s orders?”

“Oh, yes,” Buddy smiles slowly, “Definitely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thats that! i hope u enjoyed this fic & if u liked it, thank amy uwu it wouldnt exist w/out them


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